Why Agrarianism is Not the Answer?

We all need some humble pie from time to time...

Sometimes even the Goat-Man gets down in the dumps. Is it the anticipation of the coming season and what it brings? Will it be as successful as the last season? Or maybe the better question, will we have the same number of small blunders as last season? Or will the blunders Explode!? Will something go wrong with my herd? Am I always just one step away from utter disaster?

Four years in and there's no going back for me now. My Sissyphus-ian assault on the mountains must continue. I will either die on this hill, molding it over, or I will make it and prosper, seeing my grandchildren thrive on it, and then die on this hill. I feel like I can almost taste this dream, but is the taste all I ever get? Will it nourish my belly too?

Or as Thoreau criticized the farmer, with his "Augean-stables" of muck & endless turmoil:

I see young men, my townsmen, whose misfortune it is to have inherited farms, houses, barns, cattle, and farming tools; for these are more easily acquired than got rid of. Better if they had been born in the open pasture and suckled by a wolf, that they might have seen with clearer eyes what field they were called to labor in. Who made them serfs of the soil? Why should they eat their sixty acres, when man is condemned to eat only his peck of dirt? Why should they begin digging their graves as soon as they are born? They have got to live a man's life, pushing all these things before them, and get on as well as they can. How many a poor immortal soul have I met well-nigh crushed and smothered under its load, creeping down the road of life, pushing before it a barn seventy-five feet by forty, its Augean stables never cleansed, and one hundred acres of land, tillage, mowing, pasture, and woodlot!

… The better part of the man is soon plowed into the soil for compost. …It is a fool’s life, as they will find when they get to the end of it, if not before.

Most men, even in this comparatively free country, through mere ignorance and mistake, are so occupied with the factitious cares and superfluously coarse labors of life that its finer fruits cannot be plucked by them. Their fingers, from excessive toil, are too clumsy and tremble too much for that. Actually, the laboring man has not leisure for a true integrity day by day; he cannot afford to sustain the manliest relations to men; his labor would be depreciated in the market. He has no time to be anything but a machine.

- Thoreau’s Walden Pond

Farm & Life does not sound inviting the way he puts it. Perhaps there is a reason Thoreau's foray into farming only lasted two years. Or as Julius Evola evoked from the depths of the history of mankind, Man’s Bourgeois poetic-ism of Nature turned into plebeian destruction & disintegration of its Spirit…

"...There was the nature beloved by the bourgeois: Arcadian or lyric nature characterized by beauty and grace, by the picturesque, the restful, by that which inspires "noble sentiments"; nature with its brooks and groves, the romance of sunset and the pathos of moonlight; nature to which one declaims verses, weaves idylls, and evokes the poets who speak of "beautiful souls..."

In the end, the phase of nature for the plebeians arrives, with the breakout of the masses, the common people everywhere with or without their automobiles... ...the assault on the mountains... All this is part of the regime of final disintegration of our epoch..."

-Julius Evola’s “Ride the Tiger”

Luckily these things don't keep me awake at night like the occasional harsh rain & quick wind might. Not usually at least. I sleep exceptionally well most nights. It is by day that these thoughts haunt me. Farm-life is no longer a life of nightmares, but the thoughts that haunt you in daylight as you conduct your ritual tasks & chores.

Will the plants we just put in the ground be for naught? The new Buck we are trying out for the first time with our new Does, was he too young? Will our own supplies run dry before we replenish them? In other words, was this all one big mistake?

Why not a little self-reflection, a little humility sometimes? For that too is what the life of the farmer is all about. The Modern world shields you from this. That daily grind of the 9-5 to earn-a-buck which keeps you from facing utter-disaster. It keeps you from having to face the harsh realities of nature and your own nature of being a man. The Squire Make-a-stir whom always makes an entrepreneurial fuss to keep one from reaching the spiritual plane of suffering.

Life is more than just a Meme or a piece of Art. In farming you either make it or you don't. There's no such thing as halfway. Like being pregnant, you either are or aren’t a success. We have built an absolute fantasy land out here on this hill. Hopefully it ends up being more than just that.

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